


"Anniversary"

by glimpseofmymind



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Making Up, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 14:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20677196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glimpseofmymind/pseuds/glimpseofmymind
Summary: Unexpected turn of events on the fifth anniversary of D-Day.





	"Anniversary"

He downed all the beers, all the vodka and rum, any toxicity he could ingest into his system, as he typically did every night or so. The bar was loud, thanks to all the ordinary people who came here in the evening times, all those meat sacks with a brain who had absolutely no idea of the torment in his head. The suffering he hid so well, behind a stone cold expression on his face and a thick, greasy fringe over his forehead, dark like a crow. It was a crime without a suspect, a crime of which was impossible to point a finger towards anyone but himself. Every now and then, the man would picture a beautiful, shiny glock in place of his own pathetic, shaking hand. The image would draw an unwilling smile on his face, perfect combination to the sobs lurking out of his throat, the hot salt of tears flowing down the protrusion of his face, like rivers between the lands of Earth.

One or two blinks of the eyes, and he was back to reality. The bar was loud. The music was shit. He lowered his gaze to the drink sat on the counter in front of him, glass full. The slightest smell of it made his head and digestive organs go for a rollercoaster ride. That, or the simple consequence of making a habit of daily self-destructive ways.

The music playing was growing more and more depressing as the night aged, nearing its end. Some people, the louder ones, opted to leave, tomorrow’s work shift reasoning the drunken voice in their head. Although the noises weren’t hammering a migraine in him anymore, Murdoc’s head, on the other hand (or head), didn’t plan on getting quieter.

He was aware of the exact date, the exact significance of that very day. Although his overtly present pride would never let the confession slip out of his mouth, the memories had been haunting him for all of these infamous twenty-four hours of August. Like ghosts they came in flashes, barely visible, but a confirmed reality by a chill in the spine.

Five years later and the very memory still crushed pieces of his soul, painfully slow in its actions. Every regret filled year, emotions were hidden behind the act he was so used to playing; the role of a lifetime, quite literally. However, this time, the man didn’t feel like picking up the script, nor putting on a show. To forget was his only wish.

He didn’t turn around when a certain somebody made an entrance in the room. The bar was loud. However, the man knew it was _ him _, by the sound of his steps that suddenly were the only sensor in his ears. Apparently he would fail to forget tonight.

Blue boy, only a young soul… manipulated, brutalized, reduced to a punching bag. He was reminded of it every time his eyes met the darkness of the other’s, reminded of his actions, only pitiful in the eyes of the abused. In lonely nights, not by looking in a mirror, but looking inside his head, he would sometimes perceive glimpses of his damned father. And it deeply scared him. Alcohol was the only escape, including tonight. But, apparently, this night wasn’t going to be a lonely one.

When guilt forced him to turn on his seat, the simple sight of the boy, now becoming a man, tightened his chest on his heart and lungs. He made an effort to dress for the occasion, the fucker. For a second, Murdoc almost felt bad for his old, dirty shirt and ripped jeans.

He doesn’t know what drove him to stand to his feet and walk to the other, step by step, attracted almost like a magnet to the magnificence of azure hair, a contrast to the dark hues of the room. He kept a meter of distance, not daring to get any closer. He was drunk enough, almost to the point of seeing blurry.

“You’ve been drinking.” Stuart stated. To Murdoc, his eyes didn’t seem empty, but filled with worry. He couldn’t decide how it made him feel.

He wasn’t deserving to have someone be worried about him, _ right _ ? That was the type of mantra he played on repeat in his mind ever since he heard it from his father’s mouth. And even more often since the car crash(es) that changed his life, and someone else’s too. Outside, he made sure it appeared as good luck, but truly, it was a turning point to Hell for him.

Lowering his gaze to avoid dark eyes, the man was invaded by every disturbing thought, all at once. How he wished he would have never put Stuart through a goddamn ** _coma_ **, but also how he would kind of be bothered to change the past if it meant never meeting the boy.

“This is a bar.” he responded, a little late. “‘The hell d’you think I would do in here.”

The younger had his hands behind his back, slightly swinging on the heels of his feet.

“I wanted to see you. ‘Thought we could hang out...” he emphasized the word, “_ today _…”

The simple mention of it triggered the comeback of more haunting memories. In the blink of an eye, Murdoc saw the boy’s limp body on concrete ground, painted with blood, his skin like a canvas. It was a work of art he would buy only to destroy, set on fire, then run over with a heavy truck. Twice.

“I couldn’t find you all day…” Stuart said, then lowering his voice... “Where_ were _you ?”

The man tried to swallow his own saliva, but it revealed to be harder from the dryness of his throat. It almost stung.

He didn’t know what to say without hurting the person he had already hurt too many times. The truth was he had been avoiding Stuart since he had gotten out of bed. It was understandable that it awakened suspicion in the other; it was a novelty this year, something completely out of the man’s manoeurisms. Or, to himself, the role he was playing. He was out of character this time, to say the least.

When he attempted to speak, what came out of his mouth was but a weak noise from the highest of his vocal chords, barely audible through the bar’s sonor pollution. He saw the younger’s brows slowly knit together; immediately he rushed his gaze elsewhere, once again. Strangely, he had a _ feeling _, the same kind he would get when forced to swallow each and every tear he wanted to cry out, their escape forbidden by his father.

Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe he could only cope with his thousand mistakes for so long until it was no longer bearable. Maybe today was the day his brain couldn’t handle it anymore, the day it had enough of belonging to such a monster of a person.

“I was in my room.” he finally succeeded to throw the tennis ball of the conversation back to the other. Not that it was anything close to a success.

Stuart knew that what he had just heard was a complete lie. He had taken almost all of his time to search for the man, the remaining hours used to eat. He looked everywhere, and by everywhere, I mean ** _everywhere_ **. Murdoc was nowhere to be found. He remembered the sadness that had filled him as time had gone by and the precious day was coming to an end.

He forgave the other. He decided to do that. The two of them had a lot to fight about, a lot to blame each other for. Lately, all of those reasons felt meaningless… Not that he was forgetting them. But he was trying to understand them. He couldn’t express how badly he wanted to give his friend a chance, just like the man had done for him, with a keyboard and a mic.

“Oh, right. I never thought about that.” he lied through his teeth, giving a saddened smile.

He could see that wirings were malfunctioning in Murdoc’s mind. He could have brought out the famous running joke, however, right now, he found himself genuinely preoccupied by the other’s state.

“It’s alright, you know.” he added. “I get it.”

The older man stood there, zoning out on wood planks of the flooring a couple of meters farther from him.

“We can hang out now, right ?” Stuart asked, frowning again. “I can drink something, if it can help you somehow.”

Murdoc finally decided on looking back to the speaker, his expression unreadable. Although he was relieved that he was being listened to, the younger couldn’t help longing for a real answer.

The boy swallowed, trying his best to collect himself before he would start crying.

“You don’t have to talk.” he said carefully. “You don’t have to tell me anything, you don’t owe me shit.”

He finished his sentence, and the man took a few steps closer to him. He had the instinct to flinch, however, he didn’t move an inch. Murdoc was still looking at him.

Stuart took a breath. “I guess... I just wish you could **trust** me.”

A few seconds passed. He heard the other exhale deeply through his nose. Looking away again, a little lower than the ceiling, the man moved to pull the boy in an embrace. His arms even went over Stuart’s thin arms, in minimal effort. Like he wanted to be close but was still scared of it (hint: although that sentence was formed like a metaphor, it was actually the truth, word for word).

A few seconds passed, again. The younger didn’t take long to get over his shock, reciprocating the gesture, his arms going a little above the other’s waist (the best he could do). They didn’t say another word.

Murdoc swayed them to the slow music playing in the bar, his eyes not leaving the wall in the back of the room. _ One night _ , he told himself. _ One night, and then I give myself what I deserve by staying away from him _. He allowed himself to take a breath in, losing his conscience in Stuart’s warm scent, something of butterscotch and cigarettes. How badly did he want to never let go of him right now.

“‘M sorry.” the man mumbled, along with a quick kiss on top of Stuart’s head.

The younger closed his eyes. A smile traced itself on his lips. He cherished every second of the moment, an extremely rare intimacy, coming from the man in front of him. 

Noodle stood in a corner of the bar, a drink in her hand. Russel was sitting next to her at a table, exhaling the smoke of a cigar. They were both watching the two men standing on the dance floor area, closer than they had ever been in their entire lifetime.

“Weird.” the girl commented.

“At least they’re getting along.” Russel brushed off.

—

They found refuge in the bed of a cheap motel room. The late hours of the night were dawning on them, accumulated everyday life fatigue not stopping them from delving into deeply buried desires in the comfort of the sheets.

Laying on his side, Murdoc pulled his lover’s backside closer with a hand, his hips rolling back and forth in slow, careful movements. His nose buried in the crook of a soft, pale neck, his ears absorbed every lustful sound from Stuart’s heavenly vocal chords, a result of his own actions, not hurtful to the boy for once in his life.

He held the younger, grip tight as ever, arms pressed to skin of a stomach. He felt a hand slip on the top of his, peacefully resting as they shared warmth.

A sound close to the low growl of an animal escaped the man’s throat, while he took his sweet time peppering the boy’s neck with kisses, soon going in for a more risqué move, his teeth unhurriedly sinking into the skin. Rewarded by weak whines, his lips remained on the lovebite a little longer, sucking gently. His movements never stopped, but never accelerated.

“Blimey !... ” the younger fought for a breath to speak. “I’m… so close…”

Murdoc brought his teeth to Stuart’s ear, nibbling slightly. “I want you to come for me, my star…” he groaned.

The man slid a hand down to take a hold of the other’s aching member, applying just the right amount of pressure, up, and down, following his own rhythm.

Stuart could swear he was seeing stars as he felt himself tense around Murdoc, biting his lip as a failed attempt to restrain his screams of pleasure.

“Ngh… Murdoc.. I love you…” he moaned out, the older fucking him well into his orgasm, driving him way over the edge, deep in the second level of Hell, an imminent perdition far from the lasts of his priorities.

With one last thrust, the man reached a high, his own face never moving an inch away from the other’s neck and hair, sighing hoarsely in blissful relief. 

They lay still for a moment, only the sound of their harmonized breaths filling the room. Murdoc slowly pulled himself out of the boy, caressing his backside caringly. He should have always treated Stuart this way; it was nothing less than what he truly deserved. Nothing in this world could ever compare to the greatness of his wish to turn back time; he would be stuck playing that goddamn Cher song, sobbing alone in his cheap flat. As the minutes went by, he was growing more and more aware of the temporariness of their intimacy. And so he said fuck it.

“I love you too sweetheart.” he let out in a low voice, almost ashamedly.

Stuart smiled wide; the widest smile of the history of mankind, if I could say so myself. Slowly, he shuffled to turn around, facing Murdoc. From such a heartwarming sight, the older man couldn’t fight the hint of a smile that grew on his lips. They eyed each other until the younger brought him into a loving kiss, his arms going around the other. He felt a rough hand on his cheek, and a thumb rubbing slightly. He was melting under the man’s touch, and almost in a reflex he parted his lips. Their tongues slow danced to the song of the deep, relaxed exhales through their nose, and the beating of their heart, surely synchronized.

Nothing lasts forever. Yeah, sure. But the day it rips apart the meaning of a moment will be the day that Murdoc can truly say he is fully, willingly ready for inevitable death. For his singer is the answer, and the answer is his reason.


End file.
